


Someday I'll Get There

by Avery_Kedavra



Series: Soulmate September [3]
Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Background Anxiety | Virgil Sanders, Background Logic | Logan Sanders, Background Sleep | Remy Sanders, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders is a Good Friend, Dogs, Gen, Morality | Patton Sanders is a Sweetheart, Platonic Soulmates, Sympathetic Deceit | Janus Sanders, Trees, animal injury, excessive metaphors, logan remy and virgil are janus' dads Because I Can
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2020-09-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:41:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26304316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Avery_Kedavra/pseuds/Avery_Kedavra
Summary: Roman has big dreams for his soulmate. Janus tells himself he doesn't care about his soulmate. And Patton just hopes he doesn't have to be alone.Someday, they'll try to find each other. For now, they'll wait.
Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil Sanders/Logic | Logan Sanders/Sleep | Remy Sanders, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders & Deceit | Janus Sanders, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders & Deceit | Janus Sanders & Morality | Patton Sanders, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders & Morality | Patton Sanders, Deceit | Janus Sanders & Morality | Patton Sanders
Series: Soulmate September [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1907623
Comments: 5
Kudos: 69





	Someday I'll Get There

**Author's Note:**

> I’m back and I bring fluff! Should have known I couldn’t stick to an update schedule. I’ll try to catch up soon enough. And why are all my soulmates in the same town/city? Because I said so. And according to the rules of probability, in a soulmate universe it would be highly unlikely for two soulmates to ever meet. So suspension of disbelief suspends, we all turn a blind eye to the ramifications, cue story.
> 
> (Title is from Stranger Things by Kygo. Find me on Tumblr at @averykedavra.)

The dog always visits Roman in the morning.

Roman’s tried to stay up all night and see just when the dog actually gets there. He fell asleep halfway through. Roman’s locked all the doors in the house to see if that would keep it out--not that he wants the dog gone, he’s just curious, since it seems to bypass any and all locks in the house. All he can figure is that just a bit before sunrise, it wiggles through Roman’s window or something and curls at the foot of his bed, a steady little weight that makes Roman smile when he wakes up.

It’s a cute dog. It has one floppy ear and a spotted coat and likes to chase sunbeams. It bounces around after him every morning and sits on his feet if he pauses for too long. Roman can carry the dog easily enough. It’s a little thing. He feeds it every morning, but it never gets any bigger--maybe it’s just meant to be this small.

He’d ask his parents, but his parents can’t see the dog. Nobody can.

It’s just for Roman.

Roman...and his soulmate.

That must be where the dog goes for the rest of the day, Roman’s pieced together, and he wonders if it looks the same for them. If it acts the same for them. Maybe it represents their bond together--perhaps his soulmate or soulmates are puppylike in nature, or enjoy rising with the sun, or are exceedingly sneaky. Roman knows such ideas can’t be confirmed, but he still enjoys them, imagining his soulmate is with him as well as the dog.

He names the dog a new name every day. He’s tried R2-D2, but numbers weren’t a nice name for a dog. He’s tried Iago, which really wasn’t fair to the magnificent creature, and Dug, which was a good dog but a bad name. He cycled through all of Cinderella’s mice and Rapunzel’s chameleon for good measure, before realizing that naming a dog after mice or chameleons is a cruel and unusual punishment for said dog.

Although who knows if the dog even knows its name? Roman fancies it does. He fancies it knows a lot more than it lets on, eyes bright and tail wagging and following him around at his heels.

He fancies it will lead him to his soulmate one day.

Roman has big dreams for his soulmates. Perhaps that’s unhealthy, but he can hardly help it--they fill his fantasies and his wishes, faceless and nameless but _right._ They’re people meant for him, people who will make him better and who he will make better in return, perhaps friends or companions or lovers. Although Roman must admit he’s not too interested in the last one--romance is lovely, but he prefers reading or writing it than experiencing it.

He writes stories a lot.

His soulmates crop up sometimes, despite the fact that he knows nothing of their personalities. Sometimes he places them in the tower and rescues them with a flaming sword or a flaming shield or a flaming axe. Sometimes they’re his sidekicks, battling dragons and cracking jokes and falling in love in the meantime. Sometimes, when he’s in an especially sour mood, he casts himself as the villain. His soulmate redeems him. Or they destroy his kingdom and find their own true love, leaving Roman alone, in a crumbled castle with a shattered crown.

He always tears up those stories as soon as he finishes.

But his soulmates still bubble up to the surface again, always on his mind, a lurking itch in the back of his heart that tells him one day he’ll find them. One day they won’t be vague dreams and soft smiles but real people, concrete and solid and flawed. Roman doesn’t do well with reality. Why linger in mundanity when flights of fancy are so much more entertaining?

He loves his soulmates already.

Well, he loves the _idea_ of them. He loves the dreams they fill his head with, dreams of faraway mountains and deep seas, adventuring across the world with his love or loves by his side. Castles glittering under orange skies, a million people to meet and know, snow-white mountains and pearly lakes, that’s what Roman pictures every day. He’s seen pictures. He’s heard stories. He’s written quite a few stories himself.

And someday, he’ll get there, and he’ll see it all.

For now, he wakes every morning to the dog at the foot of his bed. He just calls it the dog, because no name seemed to fit it. He hasn’t given up, though. He keeps a list of possible names tacked to the corkboard over his desk. Roman is hardly the type to give up on anything--he’ll find the right name someday, but for now, it’s just the dog.

In some ways, Roman is a lover of routine. Not for the important things, of course--a routine adventure would be dreadfully dull--but for small thing, lesser things, such as sleep and food. Roman always sets his alarm clock for six-thirty, slaps it to make it shut up, and sleeps in until seven. Then the dog nibbles his foot pointedly and he sighs and gets up. It’s almost always light by seven, except in the depths of winter, when he has to stumble across the carpet and turn on the light. He almost always trips over something on the floor. Cleaning his room is boring and tedious and although doing such good deeds is heroic, since nobody ever comes into his room, it doesn’t matter in the slightest.

That’s what he tells his parents. For some reason, they’ve never seen the logic in that. But Roman is a good actor and can get away with promising he’ll “do it later” and letting later become sometime next fall.

It’s spring now. Outside his window is the biggest tree in the yard, a dogwood, and it’s fluttering with white blossoms. He throws open his window and grins at it. The dog hops up to the window ledge and sniffs the air. A deep blue sky and a cool breeze around the curtains. It’ll be a good day.

“Good morning,” Roman calls out to the dogwood tree. As always, he holds out a vague hope that someone will respond. Perhaps singing birds, or a wizard here to send him on a quest. He waits a few seconds longer, staring over the shingled roofs and watching a lone car speed down the street. In the distance, someone’s dog is barking. Roman’s dog cowers a bit.

“Don’t worry, they can’t see you,” Roman says, grinning and ruffling the dog’s ears. The dog doesn’t have a collar like all the others do. He supposes that’s because very technically, he doesn’t exist. At least not legally. That’s a weird thing to think about--that this dog, so soft under his fingers, is only for Roman.

That should make Roman feel special. And it does, a bit. But he wishes there was someone else there to appreciate how wonderful the dog is.

He wishes for his soulmates.

And he’s only been up five minutes. Wonderful. Perhaps this day won’t be so good after all.

Roman gives the scene outside his window one more cursory sweep for dragons--the neighbor across the way is watering his tulips and a newspaper sits damp in Roman’s lawn. The sun sits low under someone’s chimney, and Roman sighs under the light.

No dragons. Suburbia is highly disappointing.

He leaves the window open for fresh air as he scampers over to his dresser, the dog following at his heels. His dresser has two drawers--school clothes and home clothes. Roman opens the school one and pulls out his uniform. He gives a long sigh and regretfully takes off his Toy Story pajamas. It takes him two tries to button up his shirt, since he accidentally matches the wrong button with the wrong hole and has to start all over again.

He pulls on his pants--they’re creased in all the wrong ways, so he shimmies them until they feel a bit less stiff--and yanks on some black socks. Black socks never get dirty, as they say, and he’s pretty sure he hasn’t washed these in weeks. Well, nobody will be looking too closely at his socks. He slips on his sneakers, the ones with the dark laces and not the ones with the light-up soles, because school apparently doesn’t like light-up soles.

It’s a good school. Roman should be grateful for the chance to attend. He’s heard that exact phrase a million times.

He hates it.

For one thing, it makes it sound like they’re doing him a favor by letting him attend. Instead of the truth, which is that Roman studied hard for the entrance exam and flipping _nailed_ it. For another, just because it’s a good school and might actually get him into college--he’d be the first in his family--doesn’t mean he has to like every aspect of it. He doesn’t. His chemistry teacher is a jerk and he only has one friend and he really, really hates the uniform.

If they’re going to give everyone a uniform, Roman would at least prefer a fancy one. Perhaps a long sweeping cape, or a knight’s armor, or woven sashes and glimmering gold along the sleeves. Instead, he has to wear an ugly maroon shirt with black pants and the school crest emblazoned on every spare bit of cloth they have. Then a jacket over top--Roman usually ties it around his waist, although his aforementioned jerk of a chemistry teacher always tries to give him detention for it. Then a tie around his neck, then his sneakers, then his school bag that looks like a purse.

It’s been seven months. He still fumbles with his tie. The dog sits on the dresser and watches as Roman struggles to knot it. Roman sticks out his tongue at the dog. Who is it to judge him?

He adjusts the tie and looks at himself in the mirror. He tries to flatten a bit of his hair in the back. No success. Roman grabs his hairbrush and slashes angrily at the offending hair tuft until it finally sinks down in defeat. He needs a haircut, his mom said yesterday, but the scruffy edges of his hair fits in with the general scruffiness of the rest of him. If Roman tried, he could probably look more polished, but he has higher priorities.

As it stands, his jacket is too square around his shoulders and his tie is still lopsided. He looks like a kid in grownup clothes. None of the sizes fit him exactly, because every bit of him is growing at a different rate, and hopefully when he’s no longer twelve but perhaps sixteen, he’ll look less like a wayward schoolboy and more like the adventurous prince he’s destined to be.

A short bark from the dog. It has a nice bark, low and sweet, and it never barks for too long. Nobody can hear the dog, either. Roman's tested it.

Roman looks around at the dog, who’s now curled up by his school bag. The clock tells him it’s almost seven twenty already.

He’s running late. Of course he is.

“Thanks, fair companion!” Roman says to the dog, who wags its tail. "I’ll hurry this up, then. Ready?”

The dog wags its tail again. It’s a stubby little tail with a little piece taken out of the edge. Roman loves it.

He wonders if his soulmate loves the dog as much as he does.

He hopes so, otherwise they might be not that great, after all.

Roman’s mom calls from downstairs. He’s late. She shouldn’t be surprised, but she’ll probably still give him a glare. It’s fine. He’ll just bring his breakfast in the car with him.

“Be there in a second!” Roman yells back down. He hurriedly rifles through his papers and extracts the letter folded in the front pocket of his backpack. He’d scribbled it down during English when he was supposed to be practicing dialogue.

Every day, he wrote a letter.

No days did he receive a response.

But he kept trying, because Roman was persistent, and Roman felt it was his one connection to his soulmate. A fragile thread of connection. All they had was this dog and connected souls, so he’d just have to keep throwing words into the silence, calls to adventure that maybe--one day--would be answered.

It may have been futile. It may have been hopeless. But it reminded Roman that they were still there-- _maybe they didn’t like him maybe they didn’t need him maybe they would leave him behind_ \--and still there meant still possibly, unbelievably, _hopefully_ his.

Roman is twelve and the future is filled with promise.

He folds up the letter into a little heart, hands it to the dog, and pats it on the head. The dog takes the letter in its mouth. Roman laughs at it because it looks kind of ridiculous, pulls on his shoes, and throws open the door.

Down the stairs, grab a granola bar and a yogurt cup, wave at his little brother, make sure his backpack is filled with all his homework from last night, out into the yard he should have mowed yesterday and past the mailbox and into the minivan.

He buckles up. His mom gives him the usual glare and Roman shrugs sheepishly, already spooning yogurt into his mouth. She sighs, adjusts the mirror and pulls out of the driveway.

The dog sits on the stoop, letter in its mouth, and Roman waves goodbye, feeling his stomach sink as it grows farther away.

He tells himself this time, he won’t look away. Then he spills a little bit of yogurt on his knees, looks down to wipe it off, and when he looks back up, the dog is gone.

\---

The dog always visits Janus in the afternoon.

Janus, for his part, has timed the ridiculous little thing. It always wriggles under the fence, slips through the cat flap and gets a hiss from the cat, and flops on top of Janus’ work at about two-thirty precisely. Then it leaves at around five or six, depending on whether Janus feeds it. Janus always does, because he can’t allow the stupid thing to starve, can he?

Who knows what the mangy mutt gets up to in the meantime. Janus assumes it’s visiting his other soulmate, the one who sends him the letters. A little bit rude of the dog to spend so much time with Janus’ soulmate and not that much with him.

Not that Janus cares or anything.

Still, he will admit that he enjoys it when he sees the dog on his homework. It gives him an excuse to yell “Going out” and put away his stuff. His dads have learned to let him go. He does the rest of his schoolwork later, always, and getting between Janus and something he wants is a fool’s errand.

Janus may be twelve, but he knows exactly what he wants.

This afternoon is an achingly blue one, and Janus has to apply all his concentration to finish up his history. Then he drops his paragraph on synonyms in front of Weather Dad’s door.

He has three dads and, early on, decided to differentiate them with nicknames. Weather Dad, because he has a tendency to predict when a storm will happen three days ahead of time, and because he has a stormcloud tattoo on his arm. Coffee Dad, because he always smells like coffee and has been trying to get Janus to work the espresso machine every morning. Janus has resisted. And Glasses Dad, because he’s a hopeless nerd.

He hates all of them, of course, but he hates them slightly less than he hates the rest of the world. So it’s not really that bad at all. Glasses Dad is a good teacher and Weather Dad helps him with makeup sometimes.

And they understand there are some things Janus doesn’t like talking about. Like his soulmate.

His soulmate is personal.

Janus snorts when the dog sits on his math problems and refuses to move. “Ugh. You’re back.”

The dog tilts its head.

“Get off that, you’ll ruin it.” Janus pulls the paper out from under the dog and cups his hands around his mouth. “Dads! I’m going outside!”

A muffled “Cool” from Coffee Dad. “Be back soon” from Glasses Dad. “Don’t die” from Weather Dad.

Janus is all set to go.

He shoves his work into a big plastic bin and kicks it into the corner of the kitchen. He sprays on some bug repellent--it’s spring, so the mosquitoes aren’t quite as prevalent, but ticks are still a concern. He slips into his sandals, grabs a sunhat, and ties it over his hair. His bushy ginger ponytail barely fits under it. A box of band-aids in his pocket, a slingshot in case he meets something he doesn’t want to meet, and of course that stupid dog.

“I don’t need you to come,” Janus tells it, like he always does. “Go away.”

As it always does, the dog is undeterred. Maybe it doesn’t understand English. It probably doesn’t. Janus is being ridiculous for even entertaining the damn thing. He kicks at it teasingly and it butts him in the leg.

“Fine, you win,” Janus says, making a show of being beleagered. He’s not.

Exploring wouldn’t be the same without the dog there.

The door creaks as he tugs it open, scampering down past the vegetable garden, slipping into the trees.

He knows this forest like the back of his hand. Well, he doesn’t know the back of his hand that well, aside from it being freckled like the rest of him--so he knows it like the spots on the dog’s back. He knows it like the sun in the sky. He’s been running through here for years, finding every path he knows, committing each leaf to memory.

For instance, he knows that if he turns left at this tree right here, he reaches a huge fallen log over a small stream.

Janus turns left and sits on the log, swinging his legs over the stream, reaching a hand to the dog. It gambols happily over to him and snuggles into his side, dropping a piece of paper in his lap.

It’s folded into a heart.

Janus rolls his eyes and snorts. Ridiculous. His soulmate is utterly ridiculous.

He’s opened the letter before he even thinks about it.

This one is on notebook paper, and there are scribbled notes in the corners. Janus focuses on the little paragraph in the center. It’s in sparkly red ink. Of course it is.

Over the years, he’s learned three things about his soulmate: he’s a he and his name is Roman, he’s ridiculously dramatic, and he really, _really_ wants Janus to write back.

Oh, and he can’t spell.

 _Derest soulmate(s),_ says this one, _how are you on this fine day? I have school and theter practice after it. I’m studying for a test next week and I really hope I pass, but the curuculum is very hard and I have better things to do than sit and do homwork all day. I wrote a story about a princes saving a night and maybe I’ll send it to you tomorow. I hope your doing fabulusly. Write back if you want, I would love to here from you._

_< 3 Roman_

Janus reads it again. Ridiculous. Completely ridiculous.

So why does it make him blush?

Janus sighs and turns the letter over, scrubbing at his cheeks. The dog gives him a knowing look.

“I’ll shove you into the water,” Janus tells it.

It whines and buries itself in his shirt.

“Don’t be a coward,” Janus teases, grabbing the little thing, “it’s just water. See, I’ll dip you in it, and you can swim! Doggy paddle is a thing for a reason, right?”

The dog whines again. But its tail is wagging, and it knows Janus is kidding as much as Janus does.

Still, Janus takes pity on it. He pats it on the head and lets it scurry back to safety on the log. Then he turns back to the letter and reads it over and over again.

Roman.

Roman, his dramatic, ridiculous soulmate.

Janus turns the paper over. The back is blank. If he wished, he could write something back, give his soulmate a few words in exchange for the hundreds he’s received.

Janus sighs.

The wind blows around him. The forest is beautiful this time of year. Violets sprinkle the ground in shades of purple and white, the branches are bowed low with fresh buds, the grass is still hesitant and bright green and soft under his fingers. Soon the first strawberries will come, and the heat, and the long summer afternoons where cicadas buzz in the distance and Janus sits on the swing with lemonade and lets the warmth sink into his bones.

For now, it’s spring, and the forest is filled with possibility.

The dog is already waggling his tail.

He doesn’t have time.

He doesn’t have time to write back, to agonize over the right words to say. He has homework. He has chores. He has a forest at his fingertips. There are trees to climb and hills to climb and rocks to climb. He wants to get as high up as he can, before the sun goes down, and tomorrow he’ll do the same.

He doesn’t have time for his soulmate.

There are so many things he wants to see, to do, to touch. Janus wants so _much_ and it frustrates him how much of it is out of reach.

Besides, his soulmate is ridiculous, and Janus doesn’t like him at _all_.

He doesn’t like the stupid dog, either.

Weather Dad named the dog “Spot” because he can’t spot it. Coffee Dad named the dog “Invisible Menace” because one time it chewed up his shoes. Glasses Dad just called it “your dog.” As if it was Janus’.

It isn’t.

It belongs to Roman, someone he’s never met, someone with curly red handwriting and terrible spelling and ridiculously huge dreams.

Janus calls the dog “you.” No point in naming it. Roman probably already has.

Roman may be his soulmate, but Roman isn’t important right now. Janus doesn’t want to think about Roman. Janus will have to put up a front and make Roman like him, and making people like him is _hard_. It took him ages with his dads. People don’t like Janus much in general. He lies too much and his knees are always scraped and he makes fun of people when they laugh at him.

He doesn’t talk to people very much at all anymore. He stays in the woods with his dads and sometimes tags along to get groceries in town, and he stares at everyone when they stare at him, because he knows his endless freckles and red curls and big red birthmark down the side of his face are all _noticeable_ but it doesn’t make it fun to be stared at. People stare at his dads, too, and Janus has to stop himself from punching them.

Janus likes trees better than people.

Trees are simple. You climb them, you bump into them, you sit under them and read a book. Trees don’t judge. Trees aren’t enigmas Janus has to puzzle out, people he has to convince or charm just to get their approval, people who look down on him because he’s small and ginger and freckled and a little bit too skinny and apparently doesn’t know anything about anything.

Trees don’t take it personally when Janus doesn’t want to talk.

Trees don’t mind it when he lies.

Janus folds Roman’s letter in half, then folds the corners in. A few more folds and he has a boat, writing climbing up the sides, red pen against old notebook paper.

He leans down and pushes it off into the stream. It wobbles for a second but gains speed, floating down the current, sinking slowly into the water. The stream tumbles over some rocks up ahead. The boat falls over the waterfall and disappears.

Maybe, Janus entertains, Roman is at the other end, and he’ll receive them. And he’ll understand that Janus is there, listening, not ready to talk yet but still _here_.

Maybe, someday, Janus will find Roman. He’ll follow the dog back or follow the stream down the hill or just go into town and look around. Roman goes to a private school. Janus could try and find out which one.

Maybe, someday, Janus will look for what he wants and actually get there.

But not today.

Today he climbs the tallest hill, scrambling up the path he’s blazed over the years, that ridiculous dog wagging its tail and following. He pauses to climb a pine tree, getting almost halfway up before the branches thin out and he hears Weather Dad telling him to go back down before he breaks a freaking bone. Although Weather Dad wouldn’t say _freaking_. He pauses again to chase a crow that yells at him when he gets too close. He calls it some names in response, mostly names that Coffee Dad mutters under his breath and thinks Janus doesn’t hear. Then he makes it to the top of the hill and sits on the peak, a huge tan rock that juts out over the edge, rimmed with pine trees.

The sun is sinking in the sky. He can see the houses patterned below in strips and plaid on the ground, and in the distance, the spires and scrapers of the city. The stone is warm beneath his hands. He sets his hat on his knees and pulls at his ponytail idly. The dog sits next to him.

“You’ll be leaving soon,” Janus tells it. “Hurry up.”

It sniffs at a crack in the rock.

“I’m not feeding you again,” Janus adds. “You’re leeching money from the coffers of this household.”

Glasses Dad said that. Janus was pretty sure it was a joke, and he’s not sure what coffers are, but it makes him sound official so he likes it.

The dog just blinks innocently at him.

“Shut up,” Janus tells it, and sighs. “I don’t want to miss the sunset, but you’ll be going soon, won’t you?”

The dog tilts its head.

Janus looks back at the sun.

Sunsets here are beautiful.

And yes, there’ll be one tomorrow night. But it won’t be exactly the same. Janus wants to see it.

He’s sure Roman can feed the dog extra.

“Go,” Janus says softly, and when he looks up, the dog is gone.

\---

The dog always visits Patton at night.

He’s named it Paw-ton. If he ever meets his soulmates, he’ll see if they’ve named it something, and he’ll change the name to whatever they decided. For now, it’s Paw-ton. A cute little ball of fluff. Patton squeals every time he sees him.

Really, it’s not fair that nobody else can. This cuteness deserves to be shared!

He’s tried to help his mom see the dog. He took a photo to show her, he held the dog up so she could touch it. Nothing.

“He’s just yours,” she told Patton, smiling. “Yours and your soulmate’s.”

Patton pouted. That really didn’t seem fair.

“And get him out of the apartment,” she’d added, “the landlord says no pets.”

How the landlord could forbid an invisible dog, Patton didn't know, but he didn’t want an argument.

So Paw-ton isn’t allowed in the apartment.

So every night, after Patton finished washing the dishes, he slips out of the window onto the fire escape. And he waits.

Paw-ton always pops up when he least expects it, somehow getting three stories in the air despite being a teeny weeny pupper with little legs. Patton’s learned not to ask questions. He just lets the dog curl up next to him and he watches the street lights down below.

The city is always loud.

He can hear people talking on the street below. He can hear cars careening through the intersections. He can hear the gentle thrum of a party and the barking of a dog and someone yelling at someone else a few apartments down. He can hear an airplane passing overhead and the rattle of a truck and two different sirens, dipping and weaving around each other, just out of sync.

It’s a cold spring evening. The fire escape is freezing and the iron almost burns his skin. Patton curls tighter around himself and hopes Paw-ton shows up soon.

And he does. He wriggles into Patton’s arms and sits there, a comforting warm weight.

The lights of the city spin around them.

“I had an okay day,” Patton starts off. “Maybe a seven or eight?”

He tells Paw-ton everything. And Paw-ton listens, because Paw-ton is a dog, a dog that nobody else can see.

“How are my soulmates?” Patton asks when he finishes.

As always, Paw-ton just barks once. And Patton takes that as a sign that they’re okay.

He hopes they are.

He hopes they’re happy, and he hopes one day, they’ll be happy with him.

As always, he gets up and pushes Paw-ton away. “Not allowed inside the apartment, sorry.”

Paw-ton whines.

“Go talk to the other soulmates,” Patton says, his heart heavy. “I’m sure they’d like to see you.”

Paw-ton nuzzles his leg and trots to the edge of the fire escape, looking back at Patton. Asking Patton to follow.

Patton could follow, if he wanted.

But it’s a cold spring night and he’s in his stripy pajamas and the world is dizzyingly dark.

And he’s sure his soulmates are fine without him.

Just like he’s fine without them.

Completely fine.

“Go on,” Patton encourages.

The dog gives him one long look before walking down the fire escape.

One day, maybe, Patton will be desperate enough to follow him. And he’ll find someone in this city who _listens_ , who isn’t just another voice in the rush of noise around him, waves pulling him under.

One day.

Someday.

But not today.

It sucks to be alone. It sucks even more to be surrounded by people and _still_ alone, to be twelve and small and drowning in his pajamas and suffocating in the noise.

But someone else is supposed to fix that. And Patton doesn’t think he could bear it if they tried and failed. If the universe took away the one bit of hope he has left.

Right now, he can dream. He can dream of late nights and rainy afternoons and baked dinners and fun games. He can dream that his soulmate will be by his side.

That’s safe. That’s safer than finding out that they _aren’t_. That hurts less than being alone--because there’s still hope that someday, one day, he’ll get to where they are.

And he’ll have someone by his side, sitting on the fire escape, watching the lights.

Patton climbs back through the window, closes it, and doesn’t look back.

\---

Roman fails his test.

Not even a small, microscopic kind of fail, the kind of fail that could almost be considered a success. It was a huge, gigantic, epic fail. Red slashes over all the questions kind of fail. Murmured conversations upstairs kind of fail. Disappointed looks from his teacher, his parents once they got done murmuring, and his own face when he looked in the mirror.

He thought he could do it. Then he spent the night working on a story about two dueling mages instead of studying.

And he failed.

And he knows it’s not the end of the world, but he also knows everyone will use this as an excuse to get him to write less and study more, to say how precarious his position at the school is, and that if he wants to make his family proud, he’ll need to try harder.

Roman does try. He does. He gets how important this is. It’s just sometimes, his brain won’t focus on the right things, and he’d much rather think up new stories than stare at a textbook. School’s boring, and he doesn’t get why that’s his fault.

He fakes sick sometimes to sit in the nurse’s office for twenty minutes and scribble in his notebook while she gives him some water. Nobody likes that. But Roman never misses anything much, and the time limit makes his brain kick into overdrive.

He sneaks food into classes sometimes because he likes to eat and work at the same time, and he’s always hungry. Nobody likes that. But Roman always cleans up after himself and it never goes too wrong.

He lies about his soulmates sometimes. He pretends he’s met them, because some kids in his class already have, talking about snakes that led them to their matches or ravens that flew down from the sky and pushed them forward, and Roman doesn’t want to be left out. Nobody likes that. The teachers called home after the third time.

He’s living in a fantasy world where there aren’t any consequences, one of his teachers said, and we can’t get him to wake up.

Of course he is.

Fantasy is ten times better than reality.

Roman figures his soulmates would get it, if he told them. His soulmates would take his side. They’d understand and they’d actually listen to him instead of assuming they knew best.

They’d find him and they’d understand.

The dog shows up on Sunday morning and Roman glares at it, turning over and trying to sleep.

A little nip on his foot.

“Fine, I’m up, I’m up!” Roman rolls out of bed. It’s a cloudy day. Maybe it’ll rain later--he hopes so. It’d match his mood.

“We’re going outside,” he tells the dog as he gets up and throws on a red t-shirt and black jeans. Usually, he’d be ecstatic about the weekend--it’s free time, and he gets to wear his own clothes. Right now, he can’t muster up the excitement. “I’m going to get out of this dreadfully dreary domicile if it’s the last thing I do.”

The dog tilts its head.

“Are you coming?” Roman snaps. “Or are you going to make me do this on my own like everyone else?”

He stomps over to the door, not waiting for an answer. He grabs his jacket, pulls it around his shoulders, and slips into the hall. Much as he’d like to keep stomping around, he doesn’t want to disturb his parents. They’d probably tell him he should be studying.

He probably should be studying.

Roman walks down the hall, slides down the banister of the stairs, and jumps towards the front door. He kicks it open. The street is already busy with cars, someone peddling past on their bicycle, a few dog walkers idling by the bushes.

It’s a grey day, and Roman feels miserable, and the best thing to do is to head down the road to the playground and sit and feel miserable there.

He closes the door, looks down, and sees the dog sitting on the stoop like it’s been there all along.

“That is majorly spooky,” Roman says, striding down the walk. The dog doesn’t follow. It sits there, tilting its head, looking back at the door.

“What?” Roman asks.

A short bark.

“I won’t be gone long,” Roman says, rolling his eyes. “Don’t be so dramatic, little pup, it’s merely a walk to clear my head.”

The dog paws at the door.

“Don’t--” Roman moves to stop it. “Right. You’re imaginary. Never mind, I suppose you can knock yourself out. See you soon.”

He turns sharply on his heel and continues marching to the sidewalk. When he glances back, the dog is trotting down the stares to follow him.

“Hey, go,” Roman says, backing away. “I told you to stop bugging me, I’m not going to tell my parents where I’m going--”

The dog sidles up to him and rubs against his legs.

“I suppose I’m stuck with you, aren’t I?” Roman sighs. “Er--thank you, I appreciate it.”

He sets off, the dog by his side.

He vaguely hoped that the fresh air would make him feel better. It doesn’t. With every step, he just feels more terrible, throat and eyes burning and stomach twisted up in hardened little knots. He presses his lips together. People are all around him and he can’t start sobbing on a sidewalk, he’ll look like an idiot.

Roman wraps his arms around himself.

The dog trots next to him, looking perfectly pleased. Roman wonders if he should have put it on a leash. He doesn’t have a leash and the dog doesn’t have a collar to attach it to. Maybe he should get it a collar. It would certainly make it easier to keep messages secure--

Messages.

Oh. He’d forgotten to write a letter to his soulmate.

Roman stops dead. Much as he feels terrible about it, he can’t do anything now unless he goes back home and gets a pen--

He doesn’t want to go back home yet.

And who cares if his soulmate gets a letter anyway? Clearly not them, or they’d have written back by now.

Roman kicks the sidewalk. It’s satisfying. He kicks it again.

Stupid soulmates. Stupid test. Stupid stories. Stupid neighborhood with no dragons. Stupid school. Stupid teachers. Stupid soulmates who didn’t even bother to write him back.

The dog lowers its head, like it can hear what Roman’s thinking.

Stupid dog.

Roman hates the dog. He hates his soulmates. He hates every letter he’s written. He hates school, he hates his family, he hates everything in the whole wide world, castles and mountains and lakes he’ll never get to see--

He’s reached the crosswalk. He slams his fist into the button, and the light turns green. He scurries across it. The dog waits at the sidewalk.

Still wanting him to turn around.

Stupid dog!

“Leave me alone,” Roman yells at it. “They don’t want me, I don’t want them, leave me alone--”

The dog starts to trot towards him.

Roman walks to the other side of the street.

The dog follows, six feet behind.

Roman turns away, intent on getting to the playground and ignoring the stupid dog for the rest of ever, hands deep in his pockets.

A sickening thump.

Roman turns back around.

A bicycle careens to the side of the road and rights itself. And the dog, Roman’s stupid little soulmate dog, is crumpled in its wake.

Roman doesn’t even think. He runs over and scoops it up in his arms. It’s light, too light, and breathing, but its leg is twisted and bleeding a little.

A car honks.

Roman’s standing in the middle of the road. Crap. He gives the cars a sheepish wave and runs off the road onto the sidewalk. He sits down in someone’s yard, hoping they won’t be mad, and sets the dog by his feet. It’s shaking. It’s so small on the grass and it’s shaking, and Roman doesn’t know what to do, nobody else can see what he sees and what happens if a soulmate animal dies--

It’s almost the end of the morning, he realizes wildly. He’s running out of time. The dog will leave and it’s hurt and who knows if his other soulmates can help.

The dog whines when Roman touches it.

“Are you okay?” Roman asks. He knows it can’t answer, and it doesn’t. But it does try to stagger to its feet.

“Hey, hey, easy.” Roman catches the little dog and tries to steady it. “Your leg’s hurt, you shouldn’t be--”

“Roman!”

Roman looks up. His mom is running towards him, face set in a combination of fury and worry.

Crap.

“I’m busy!” Roman yells back.

“You just left!” she yells in return. “Do you have any idea how worried I’ve been, this behavior is unacceptable, get over here immediately--”

“But--”

Roman looks back at the dog, to see if he can explain, and he knows she can’t see the dog because it’s a soulmate thing--and he just ruined it, he ruined it, he hurt the dog and now his soulmates will be mad--but if he tries, maybe she’ll understand, they can help it and fix it and everything will be okay--

The dog is gone.

He looks all around at the yard. A few shriveled daffodils and some grass. No dog.

It left. It left because Roman hurt it and it didn’t want to be here anymore.

“Roman!” his mom exclaims. “Are you alright?”

Roman looks up and starts to cry.

\---

Janus has finished his homework, and the dog isn’t here.

He looks through it, wondering if there’s something he’s forgotten to do. No, he’s finished every assignment. That’s strange. He usually times this right--his work must have been easy.

He glances at the clock.

No, it wasn’t.

The dog is late.

Janus bites his lip and for a brief second, he’s flooded with worry.

But this is fine. It’s probably just busy, is all. Besides, he doesn’t need the stupid mongrel anyway. It’s just a dog.

Janus shifts around his homework. He pulls out a sheet of extra problems, which he normally wouldn’t touch, and starts filling them out. His pencil scratches against the paper and the kitchen is silent.

He doesn’t like this.

He finishes the extra problems, double-checks his work, and the dog isn’t here.

Janus groans at himself. So what? His day isn’t destroyed because the dog didn’t show up. He can still do everything he wants to do. In fact, he’s wasting time just sitting at the table. The forest is right outside and begging to be explored.

He sits there for a few moments longer.

The kitchen is empty.

Janus stands up and pushes aside his things more harshly than necessary. “I’m going out,” he calls, and he wonders if his dads can hear the waver in his voice.

He doesn’t wait for their reply.

He pushes the door open. It bangs against the wall of the house and slams back into place. He strides out into the yard, hair flying behind him. He’s forgotten his sunhat--it’s okay, today is cloudy. He’s forgotten his bug spray, too. And his sandals. He just wanted to be out of that empty kitchen and now he stands barefoot on the pebbled path, clutching at his arms, staring into the forest.

Did the dog get lost?

How would it get lost? He’s always assumed it simply teleported where it needed to be. Maybe his soulmates aren’t too far away, though, and maybe the dog always journeys by foot. Janus thinks of the little stupid thing walking through the rain to get to him, and something cold turns over in his stomach.

Maybe the dog is with his soulmate.

That would make sense. Maybe Roman is hogging the dog, or simply needed its help with something. Maybe Roman finally got tired of Janus not writing back and kept the dog with him out of spite.

Maybe Roman’s finally given up on him.

Janus doesn’t care.

Janus is fine on his own.

He’s always been.

He clenches his jaw and heads straight for the forest. He’ll do everything anyway. He’ll get more done if he doesn’t have to slow down so the stupid dog can keep up. He’ll climb every tree in this forest.

Though he should put on some shoes, at least, before he starts--

A whine from behind him.

He whirls.

There’s nothing there. Just a few rows of garden and the closed door to the kitchen. The walls of their house are dark blue because Weather Dad wanted purple and Coffee Dad wanted black and Glasses Dad wanted “something sensible.” A vulture wheels high above Janus, etched against the thunderous grey clouds. Maybe it’ll rain. Janus hopes not--he still has trees to climb.

Another whine.

It’s the sound of a dog. A dog in pain.

Janus looks around frantically. He has to be hearing things. There’s nothing, nothing but a few boots by the back door, the cracks in the steps, the rows of tomatoes--

Something shifts in the shadow of the steps.

Janus steps closer.

A third whine.

He hasn’t heard any dog whine like that. But he only knows one dog.

Janus sprints to the steps.

His dog, his stupid ridiculous dog, is curled up next to them.

“There you are!” Janus complains, squatting next to it and reaching out a hand. “Why are you just sitting there, you’re late--”

He touches the dog. It’s shaking. He slips his other arm under its belly to pick it up.

It flinches.

And teeth close around his wrist.

Janus yells, jerking his hand away. The dog hasn’t punctured the skin, but he can see little divots, and it stings. He shakes his wrist out and turns back to the dog. It’s curled deeper into the shadows as if ashamed.

Its leg is twisted under it.

Janus thinks he sees blood.

For a second his heart stops, and as if to make up for it, starts pounding fast and hard.

But this isn’t the time to panic. His dog is hurt.

“Hey,” Janus says as softly as he can, “can you come out?”

The dog looks at him with wide eyes.

“I bet you can’t move much,” Janus says, sitting down entirely and raising his arms. He leaves them hovering a few inches from the dog. “It must have hurt when I touched you, huh?”

The dog curls even tighter into itself. It’s strange to see it in the shadows like this. It’s a dog that looks best in the sunlight--now Janus can see the scraggly edges of its spots and the little chunks in its tail. It looks lost and confused and scared.

Janus edges closer.

The dog sinks back, giving Janus a little warning growl.

Janus stops.

And the dog tucks its head between its paws, looking like it wishes very much to keep away from Janus forever.

“Easy,” Janus says. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

The dog blinks at him.

And for a second, Janus understands it, more than he’s understood anyone in his whole life.

It’s not afraid that he’ll hurt it.

It’s afraid that it’ll hurt him again.

“Oh,” Janus says, pulling his hand back. “It’s okay, I promise.”

The dog watches his hand.

“Look, the bite will heal.” Janus holds up his wrist. “See? It’s not so bad. There’s not even any blood.”

The clouds swirl above them. It’s going to rain soon, and Janus is not leaving his stupid dog out in the rain. Out in the rain _injured_ , and there will be time to wonder how this happened and if Roman knew about it, but now isn’t that time.

“It’s okay,” Janus says again. “I...you were hurt, and you were scared, and you lashed out. I do that sometimes, too.” He pauses and holds out his arms. “But I want to help. I’m not mad at you--and I’ll try my best not to hurt you. I can’t say it won’t hurt at all, but I’m sorry in advance if it does, and you really need to get looked after so I think it’ll be worth it in the end.”

The dog tilts its head. It’s a cute little thing. Janus notices it has no message for him, and his stomach twists, but now isn’t the time.

“Come here?” he asks hesitantly.

The dog struggles to its feet and limps into his arms. Janus sighs with relief and curls it close to his chest. It’s warm. He can feel its heartbeat fluttering against him.

“Thank you,” he says. “You’re going to stay with me for a little while, okay? We have some medical supplies. I’m sure Roman won’t miss you much, and--I can write him a letter. Explaining everything.” Janus bites his lip. “If...he’d like that.”

The dog licks Janus’ chin, which Janus counts as a yes.

Janus smiles at it.

Stupid little dog.

He stands up and carries it into the house.

\---

It’s raining.

Not one of the nice kinds of rain, either. Patton likes when it rains lightly and drizzles his hair until it’s a little bit floofy. He likes it when it’s warm and wet and filled with puddles he can splash in. And he likes it when it snows--which isn’t really rain, but his teachers say it’s frozen rain, so he thinks it counts.

This, though, is a thunderstorm. Lots of flashy lightning and booms of thunder. Patton doesn’t like thunderstorms because Paw-ton doesn’t. It tries to wriggle through the window and hide under Patton’s bed, and Patton has to stop it because no pets in the apartment.

He always ends up covering Paw-ton with an umbrella on rainy nights. Sometimes that means Patton gets wet. Patton doesn’t mind.

He’s wet now.

It’s cold. It’s cold and wet and the thunder is way too loud and he’s a little nervous that being so high up means the lightning might come for him and zap his bones. He’s curled in a tight ball so the lightning won’t see him. Maybe it’ll hear him.

But he’d be hard to hear over the storm.

Big claps of thunder, the screech of cars, and the endless thrum of rain around him. Patter patter patter, splash splash splash.

Patton can barely see a thing. His glasses are wet and covered in droplets so the whole world blurs. Smears of red and yellow for the neon signs, flashes of white for the lights in the distance, and a broiling grey expanse of sky.

His pajamas are soaked through. The fire escape is slippery under him.

Maybe he shouldn’t be out here.

But he’s waiting.

He doesn’t know how late it is. Probably less late than it seems, because the sun is completely hidden and the clouds make the world very dark. Still. He’s pretty sure Paw-ton should be here by now.

Paw-ton should be here, and Patton is very, very worried, and Patton is very, very cold.

And Patton is very, very alone.

What happened? Is Paw-ton just late? Or maybe it’s stuck somewhere, not wanting to go out in the rain. But it’s gone in the rain before. It always comes for Patton. Patton can’t name a single time when it didn’t.

Paw-ton is always on time.

Paw-ton is always _there_.

Patton wonders if he did something wrong.

Maybe the universe decided to take back his soulmates. Maybe the dog got hurt, or kidnapped. Maybe one of his soulmates kept it for longer--maybe Paw-ton is a comfort for them, like it is for Patton, and they just needed it after a rough day.

Which makes sense.

And is fair.

And yet Patton still selfishly wishes his dog was here.

Because he’s cold and alone and should be going back inside but he’s stuck here, drummed in place by rain, face dripping and hands pruny and the world crashing down around him.

Sheets of rain, blobs of color, and the smell of wet asphalt.

Patton doesn’t like the city much.

It’s always prettier when Paw-ton is there.

Yeah, it’s just a dog. But it’s something. It’s another warm body on the fire escape and a reminder that somewhere out there is someone that is meant for Patton. Patton’s not alone. He’s not a lost puzzle piece in a jigsaw that someone else already completed. He’s got his person or his people. And his dog.

He’s got a place to be, and someday he’ll get there, and one night with no dog doesn’t mean that changes so _why does he feel like crying?_

Patton presses his hands over his eyes. The tears come anyway, thick and fast, falling in sheets like the rain around him.

He’s a little lost thundercloud, far from the storm, not loud enough to crack through the world. Not big enough to make any sound at all.

He cries, curled up on the fire escape, and it’s stupid to be crying over a dog but he can’t stop himself.

He’s cold, and he’s wet, and he’s lonely.

So he cries.

He doesn’t go back in for a very long time, not until even his bones are wet and he’s about to collapse from tiredness. He peels off his wet pajamas and leaves them in a heap on the floor.

He keeps the window open overnight, just in case Paw-ton is scared of the storm and wants to hide. He doesn’t care about the rules. Not right now.

His whole room is cold and wet, and Patton barely sleeps, and his dog--his cute little puppy dog--is nowhere to be found.

That night, all the window lets in is the rain.

\---

Roman wakes up on his own.

He brushes his teeth on his own. He puts on his school clothes on his own. He doesn’t bother to open the window, because he knows there won’t be any dragons.

The dog doesn’t come.

He pretends it doesn’t hurt.

Roman hopes the dog is okay. Maybe his other soulmates helped it. Maybe they’ve decided to keep it so it stays safe.

Roman wouldn’t blame them.

This is his punishment for letting it get hurt.

He gets that.

In the stories, his soulmates and him save the world. And in his angry stories, his soulmates save the world from him.

Everything’s an angry story now, written in his own cramped handwriting, the words disjointed and slashing through him like knives. Everything’s red and black and with no happy ever afters because Roman threw the notebook at the wall before he finished.

Roman gets angry sometimes.

And now his dog is hurt.

And now his soulmates probably hate him.

Roman gets angry, and he’s trying so hard not to be angry right now, so all that’s left is regret.

The dog never comes and Roman wants to cry.

He’s on time for school. It’s the first day in months that he’s managed that. He eats breakfast slowly and slips into the car. His mom doesn’t glare at him like usual and the minivan puts slowly down the road. They’re in no rush. Roman is right on time.

He hates it.

\---

Janus wakes up to the dog curled by the foot of his bed. He eats breakfast quickly and runs up to make sure it’s still okay. His dads helped him as much as they could, but only Janus could actually patch the dog up, so he’s worried he didn’t do a very good job. But the dog seems to be doing better. Maybe it’s magic--maybe it heals fast.

Janus still doesn’t know what happened to it. He’s trying not to jump to conclusions. But if Roman hurt this dog, Janus is going to shove him into a tree. Twice.

It’s _his_ stupid dog. Nobody hurts his stupid dog.

“Feeling better?” Janus asks it that morning. “I can’t have you hanging around forever, mutt, you’re stinking up my room.”

The dog gives him a look, and Janus gives it a look right back.

He takes it with him when he does his chores, under the guise of getting the dog moving so it heals faster. The dog is no help with his chores, but oddly, Janus gets them done quicker.

He eats lunch with the dog sitting on his feet.

It’s ridiculous.

It still makes him smile.

The dog is restless. He catches it looking out the window or staring at the door. It has other places to be. It wants to be with Roman again--and that hurts, just a bit, but Janus _has_ had the dog for a whole night. He wonders if Roman misses the dog. Roman must know it was hurt. Unless it got hurt in transit, but Janus has become relatively sure that the dog is only affected by the real world when they’re involved in it. Evidence: it disappeared when he left the room, which he knows because he saw it appear again for the first time. It’s strange to watch. There wasn’t a dog and now, suddenly, there’s a dog.

Which means the dog was only around to get hurt if Roman was there.

Which means Roman _must_ know the dog was hurt.

Janus wonders if Roman tried to help. Why’d the dog leave? Why’d the dog come to _him?_

Maybe it was just the timing.

Or maybe it likes Janus, and Janus doesn’t know why that makes him feel giddy.

The dog is restless, and Janus tells it that it’s still healing and needs to stay. It whines. Janus hates its whining. It’s a pitiful sound and makes him feel bad, inside and out.

Janus tries to climb a tree or two in the afternoon, but since the dog can’t follow, he loses motivation quickly. Instead he sits in the garden, the dog curled by his side, and tells stories.

The dog watches the road that winds down the hill and into the city.

The dog watches it, and Janus watches it too. It’s an empty road. Nobody ever comes up here.

“Is he close?” Janus finds himself asking.

The dog lowers its head.

“You’re hurt,” Janus says. “You can’t--”

It’s getting late. The sun is setting. If Janus doesn’t keep his eyes on the dog, it’ll travel wherever it needs to go, and he doesn’t know if that hurts it. Or if Roman will be able to look after the dog like it needs. It’s wounded. Its leg is splinted and it can’t walk, and Janus trusts his soulmate but only to be dramatic and to write letters every day.

He’s not sure if he trusts Roman with this dog.

He’d like to, of course, but Janus doesn’t trust easily.

Not with important things.

“Stay,” Janus begs the dog, staring at it. It never leaves when he’s looking. But it appeared when he was looking today--maybe it’s getting desperate.

The dog keeps whining, low and upset.

“I can’t let you leave,” Janus says. “I’m sorry, I need to look after you--”

The dog nips at him and pulls itself to its feet, shivering.

“Hey, no!” Janus exclaims. “Stop that, you’ll hurt yourself--”

The dog gives him a determined look.

“No, wait--” Janus’ heart squeezes. “You can’t just go to him. I need to make sure you’re safe.”

A gesture of the head.

It’s a clear message. _He needs me. I’m going._

Janus sighs.

He doesn’t want this dog getting hurt again.

But...he imagines Roman, without the dog, worrying. He imagines letters in that red sparkly pen that are folded up but never delivered.

Janus stands up and grabs the dog.

“I’m going out,” he calls to his dads.

“It’s late,” says Weather Dad, peeking his head out of the door. Glasses Dad is cooking--Janus can smell it. It is late. He’ll miss dinner if he does this.

He looks down at the dog in his arms.

“I need to bike somewhere,” he says. “It’ll be quick.”

Weather Dad’s eyebrows pull together and he scowls, but his eyes flicker down to the dog. He can’t see it. It probably looks like Janus is holding nothing at all.

“Be quick,” Weather Dad says. “And be careful, don’t want you falling off. Keep your lights on. Wear a yellow hat, stay to the side of the road, bring a phone--”

“Babe, he’ll be fine.” Coffee Dad slings an arm around Weather Dad’s shoulders. “Don’t get lost, Jan, okay?”

“I won’t,” Janus promises, and for Weather Dad’s sake he takes the large yellow sunhat offered to him. It matches his t-shirt. He can’t imagine not being noticed in this hat.

His bike is leaned against the side of the garage. He places the dog in the basket and hops onto the seat, wobbling his way to the road.

It’s all downhill from there. The road looks like a stream, bubbling back and forth through the trees, slipping its way over rocks to the city.

He just has to let go and ride the whole way down.

Janus nods to himself and pedals.

It’s a warm evening. The wind whips his hair, pulling it loose until the curls fly around his head. The dog opens its mouth and lolls its tongue out. It looks happy. Maybe because he’s giving in--Janus is going to find his soulmate tonight, because of the stupid dog, the one thing they have in common.

He’s headed towards the glittering city below.

The shadows around him are warm and thick and the trees rustle in the wind. He grips tightly to his handlebars and brakes a bit, taking the curves expertly. He sees flashes of trunks and logs and flowers, dim and muted. The whole world is like a wet cloth--dipped in water and wrung out until it’s all smudged and dulled and darkened.

The crickets chirp and Janus thinks he sees a firefly.

He rides further down the hill. He’s building up speed. He pedals as fast as he can, hat almost flying off his head, shirt whipping around.

He can’t see the city anymore, because he’s almost there.

His bicycle skims the road neatly, bends into the curves, and he’s pedaling so fast and steady he can’t imagine stopping himself. He’s all momentum. He’s flying down the hill, past the forest full of trees he’s yet to climb. It’s the opposite direction of where he usually goes. He is no longer trying to touch the sky. He is headed for the valley, for the shadows, for a distant promise of a soulmate.

Is Janus ready for this?

Possibly not. Probably not.

Does Janus want this?

Yes.

And Janus won’t let anything get between him and what he wants.

He pushes himself even faster and soars down the hill.

The city appears in front of him. The road widens. Little white dashes bleed into existence and Janus pulls over to the side. The dog is still panting, pointing his nose down into the city, leading Janus on.

He’s glad one of them is having fun.

The city is so bright, he realizes as he approaches. Every building is flaming with lights. The windows are little squares against the sky and the streetlights are circles and the cars shuffle back and forth like glowing ants.

The city is on fire, and Janus is heading right for it.

He tightens his grip on his handlebars.

He flies.

\---

The dog hasn’t come.

Patton has planned for this. He’s brought a coloring book and some crayons, so he can wait for a long time. Maybe he should have brought his homework. It’s due soon, and besides, he can’t even see the colors. They all look gray and washed-out in the neon lights.

He thinks about getting a flashlight.

But he might miss Paw-ton, if it arrives, and he’s just found a kinda comfortable spot.

So Patton sits there, coloring book in his hands, watching the lights.

Someone is yelling again. So many people yell in the city. Patton doesn’t get it. Sometimes you’re listened to and sometimes you’re not and it’s no use getting angry over it.

He doodles a little dog. He’s not very good at drawing but he gets the floppy ears and the little nose and the cute teeny tail. He writes ‘Paw-ton’ next to it.

He’ll show it to Paw-ton next time it visits.

If it does.

Patton yawns. It’s late and he didn’t sleep much last night, but he can’t bring himself to leave.

Yelling. Cars. The skid of a bicycle, the chatter of people, the distant pulse of music. People always play music in the city, too. Patton gets that, at least. Music is nice. Sometimes if someone’s playing good music, and Patton’s had a good day, he dances to it. Paw-ton isn’t a good dancer but he jumps around a lot and that’s good enough.

Patton tries moving his head to the beat.

He can’t find the energy.

It’s a warm night, the kind of night that buzzes, that says the world is just a little bit different than usual. A nice night. It would be nice if Patton weren’t alone in it.

If he wasn’t so gosh darn _worried_.

A dog barks nearby. He can almost pretend it’s Paw-ton. It’s the right sound, soft and kind, never barking for too long--

“Hello?”

Patton jerks upright. That’s a voice from right down below him. He waits to see who it’s talking to.

“Hello?” The voice sounds a little exasperated. “I can see you, you know. And I have no idea why you’re on a fire escape of all things, but you should come down--I’ve got someone who wants to see you.”

Patton peeks over the edge. A boy is standing there, wearing a baggy yellow t-shirt and a large straw hat of the same color. It has a ribbon across it. It’s a nice hat. He’s a nice boy, or at least Patton thinks so, with thin legs and loads of freckles and the kind of frizzy hair that makes it look like a little ginger cloud is following him around. He’s staring at Patton with blue eyes and a vaguely irritated expression. There’s a bandaid on his left knee and it has a smiley face on it. A bicycle is leaned up against the wall of the alley.

In his arms--

_Oh!_

Patton squeals. He scrambles to his feet and takes the steps two at a time, grinning wildly.

“Slow down,” says the boy. “I don’t want to have to fix another broken leg.”

Patton barely slows down. He runs all the way to the ground and bolts over, because it’s _Paw-ton_ , his _dog_ , his _dog_ is finally back and curled up in this boy’s arms--

“You’re okay!” Patton blurts out as he skids to a stop.

“It’s alright,” the boy agrees, holding Paw-ton out. Patton opens his arms and Paw-ton jumps into them, licking Patton’s face. Patton giggles.

“I missed you!” Patton exclaims. “I missed you, I missed you so much, what happened--”

“It got hurt,” says the boy. “I splinted its leg as much as I could. I was going to keep him here for longer, but he was desperate to get back to you. No need to thank me--”

“Thank you!” Patton extends one arm and hugs the boy around the shoulders. “Thank you, thank you, thank you _so much!”_

“Er,” the boy says, looking taken aback. “You’re welcome?”

“I was so worried,” Patton gushes. “It got hurt? What happened?”

“I was hoping you’d tell me that,” says the boy, his voice taking on a hard edge. Patton pauses, his smile falling.

“What--” Patton looks from the dog in his arms back to the boy. “I don’t know what happened! I just waited for Paw-ton and he wasn’t there! He didn’t get hurt with _me_.”

“That’s strange,” says the boy, frowning. “I thought--wait, _Paw-ton?”_

“That’s what I named him!” Patton says. “After me? My name’s Patton. You--we can change it if you want. I just wanted something to call the little pupper!”

“Patton,” the boy repeats. “Not Roman?”

“Roman?” Patton’s never heard that name before. “Who’s Roman?”

The boy blinks.

And he says a very, very naughty word. Patton covers the dog’s ears.

“Two soulmates,” the boy finally says, groaning. “All this time I had two soulmates. I thought it was just Roman and his letters--” Horror flashes over his face and he looks up at Patton like he’s seeing him clearly for the first time. “You didn’t get any of the letters--I took them--”

“What?” Patton asks.

“I--” The boy swallows. “I’m sorry. I--I didn’t know you were here, too.”

“Oh.” Patton doesn’t fully understand, but the boy looks upset, so he tries to smile. “It’s okay! I’m here now?”

“You are.” The boy looks down at Paw-ton. “I’m...I’m also sorry I kept the dog for so long.”

“It’s okay,” Patton says again. Because now, he feels, it is. He’s got his dog back. “You helped it, and that was really nice of you!”

The boy smiles a little. “I’m Janus.”

“Janus! I’m Patton!” Patton giggles. “I already said that. Nice to meetcha!”

“Likewise.” Janus looks around at the alley. Neon lights play across his face, making his freckles glow. “Do you come here often?”

“I live in the apartment over there.” Patton rocks the dog in his arms. “Where do you live?”

“Up the hill in the woods.”

“Whoa! Really?” Patton gasps. “I wanna see!”

Janus chuckles. “Easy there. We just met.”

“Yeah, but you’re my soulmate.” Patton pauses as the reality of that finally, _finally_ sinks in. “You’re....you’re my soulmate. My actual soulmate.”

“Yes?” Janus’ hand comes up to pull at his hair. “And you’re mine, I suppose. I...I understand if this is a lot to process--”

“You’re my soulmate,” Patton breathes, and he can’t think of anything else because his soulmate is _here_ , and _real_ , and standing in cargo shorts and a yellow t-shirt and a big hat. They must be the same age or close enough. Janus has a lot of little freckles and one big freckle down the side of his face and he looks really, really nice.

He wonders what Janus thinks of him.

He hopes it’s good.

“We have one more,” Janus says awkwardly. “Roman. He sends me letters, but I never wrote back.”

“Why not?” Patton asks.

“I don’t know, I just--” Janus looks away. “I was scared, I guess.”

Patton watches him for a second.

“This is scary,” he agrees. “I don’t know you very much. And you’re supposed to listen to me and be nice, but I don’t know if you will.”

“I’ll try?” Janus suggests.

Patton looks at him a second longer. Then he nods decisively. “You’re nice. You helped our dog, so you’re nice.”

Janus looks down at the dog. “For what it’s worth, I think Paw-ton is a fine name. I never gave it one, I--I always thought you’d have made one up yourself.”

“You can give it a middle name,” Patton suggests.

Janus huffs and rolls his eyes. “I just call it stupid.”

“Stu, then.” Patton shrugs. “Short for stupid.”

Janus blinks. “Stupid is an insult.”

“I bet it’s not when you use it.”

Janus looks down at the dog and sighs. “No, it’s not.”

“Paw-ton Stu,” Patton announces, and the dog nuzzles his chin. “Roman can pick the last name when we find him.”

“So...we’re looking for him?” Janus asks. “Now?”

“Not now,” Patton says. “It’s late.”

“It is,” Janus agrees. He shifts. “Tomorrow? I know where your apartment is now. We could...find Roman together? If you’d like?”

Patton thinks of all the nights he spent waiting for his soulmates. Or waiting for his dog. He’s always waited. He’s always figured that if he deserves a soulmate, fate will bring them to him. He’s always thought that his soulmates will find him if they want him. Patton’s always been told not to force things. He can’t be too loud or he’s being mean.

He’s been quiet for a long, long time.

He’s stayed very, very still.

He’s thought of a _someday_ and he’s never tried to make that _today_.

He’s got places to go. Maybe it’s time he starts moving.

“Yeah,” Patton says, smiling. “Together.”

\---

Roman is quiet.

He wasn’t quiet at first. The moment he’d seen the dog, sitting next to two boys his age, he’d almost screamed. They’d laughed as he scooped up the dog and looked it over--it looked alright, with a little splint on its leg. It licked his nose and tucked its head under his chin.

He’d been forgiven by the dog, at least.

His soulmates were another matter entirely.

Which is why Roman’s quiet now, sitting on the pavement, trying to think of what to say.

He glances up at them for the fifth time. One of them has enough freckles for a dot-to-dot puzzle, and the other has black hair that forms a fringe over his eyebrows. They’re not glaring at him. But they don’t look exactly _happy_ , and Roman’s nervous.

“Sure, let’s just sit here in silence forever, that sounds fun.” That’s Freckles, sitting back on his hands and giving them both cool looks. “Is anyone going to talk or must I?”

“Um.” That’s the other one. “Hi! I’m Patton, this is Janus, and you must be Roman!”

“I’m Roman,” Roman agrees.

Patton and Janus. Nice names. They look like nice people, and Roman figures if things were different, maybe they could be friends.

He doesn’t know if they want to be his friends.

They’re his soulmates, which makes things weird.

Roman had plans for when he’d finally meet his soulmates. He’d sweep them off their feet and proclaim his undying affection, then they’d ride off into the sunset together. There isn’t a sunset right now. The sun is low next to the squat concrete square of his school, and cars drive past them, separated only by a chain-link fence and a strip of dirty grass.

He looks across the parking lot. His mom is waiting.

He’d expected her to argue when he said he needed to go talk to his soulmates. She hadn’t. She’d given him a kiss on the head and promised they’d like him.

Roman isn’t sure if they will.

But he knows where to start.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

Patton and Janus exchange a look.

“What happened?” Patton asks, and it’s gentle, but he can tell Patton is a little angry. Roman pulls his legs to his chest.

The dog doesn’t leave his arms. He finds courage from that.

“I--I was upset,” Roman starts off, not looking at either of them. “I wanted to go to the playground, and the dog kept following even when I told it to leave, and--and it got hit by a bicycle. ‘Cause nobody could see it.” He reaches out and hands Patton his dog back. “I’m really sorry.”

Patton looks down at the dog, then back at Roman, who is trying very hard not to cry.

“I forgive you,” Patton says.

What?

“Me too,” Janus adds, looking a little uncomfortable. “You know. If it matters. It sounds like it was an accident.”

“But--” Roman looks between them. “I thought you’d be mad, I--”

Patton shakes his head. “Sounds like you were the one who was mad.”

And maybe that’s true. Maybe Roman’s always been angry--angry at himself and the world and his soulmates. But maybe the rest of the world doesn’t work like he does.

They’re not angry with him.

So maybe Roman doesn’t have to be angry with _himself_ , either.

He takes a deep breath.

“Thank you,” he says. “Thank you so much.”

“Janus did most of the work,” Patton said, grinning at Janus, who snorts and looks away. “He was the one who looked after Paw-ton.”

“You figured out what school Roman went to based off what he said in his letters,” Janus pointed out.

“Wait.” Roman looks between them. “Letters?”

It’s Janus’ turn to look at the ground.

“You got my letters!” Roman exclaims.

“I...did.” Janus pauses. “I--I didn’t pass them on to Patton, though, so he didn’t.”

“It’s alright,” Patton says, sounding like it hadn’t always been alright. “I found you guys now.”

“Roman.” Janus’ jaw clenches. “I...I’m sorry I didn’t answer any of them. I couldn’t think of what to say--I’m not good with people in general, and I was scared, and I definitely wanted to make a terrible first impression on my soulmate, so I--” He wraps one arm around himself. “I promised myself I’d write back someday. I’m sorry it took so long.”

Roman stares at him.

And he’s had a million rants ready for this moment, a million questions, a million jabs because he’s spent years writing those letters, pouring his heart and soul into them, and each one had just been cast aside like it was _nothing_ \--

Except Janus didn’t think that. He’d just been scared he wasn’t _enough_ \--that he couldn’t measure up to Roman’s letters.

Roman closes his eyes and lets the anger drain away.

“It’s okay,” he says, and he finds he means it. “We’re here now.”

“We’re here now,” Janus repeats, as if he can’t believe it.

“We’re together!” Patton squeals. He dumps the dog in Janus’ arms and attacks Roman in a hug. Roman jerks in surprise but hugs him back. Patton is warm and soft and pretty strong and fits into him like they were made for each other.

They are.

That’s the whole point.

Roman starts to laugh, beaming at Patton, and Patton’s giggling too, and even Janus is covering his mouth to hide his chuckles. Roman reaches for Janus and Janus takes his hand, slipping his fingers between Roman’s. 

“You’re my friends,” Patton giggles. “You’re here and you’re my friends--” He cuts himself off. “Right?”

“Not yet,” Janus says softly. “But...maybe soon, if you’d like to be.”

Roman grins even wider. “I’d love to be.”

Janus smiles back.

Patton finally pulls away and gives Janus a quick hug too. The dog is curled up in Janus’ lap, looking like there’s no place it would rather be.

“Thanks, Paw-ton,” Patton tells it. “Paw-ton Stu, you did a very good job and you’re a very good boy, yes you are.”

The dog wags its tail.

“Paw-ton Stu?” Roman repeats.

“Short for Paw-ton Stupid,” Janus says, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Patton gave one name and I gave another. I’m sure you can’t guess which is which.”

“And you get to pick the last name!” Patton says, turning to Roman. “What do you call the little doggo?”

Roman shrugs. “Nothing, I could never find a name that fit.”

Janus leans forward and lets the dog trot over to Roman. It keeps its back leg lifted in the air, but it can still walk pretty well. Roman reaches out a hand and pets it, and its little tail wags even more.

He bites his lip. A name. A name for this magical little dog that managed to finally bring them all here.

“Dragon,” he decides, looking up. “How about dragon? He’s our little dragon sidekick.”

“Paw-ton Stu Dragon,” Janus says, rolling his eyes. “If that’s what we’re going with.”

Still, he gives the dog--Paw-ton--a little scratch around the ears, so Roman thinks he likes it.

“I love it!” Patton squeals, clapping his hands. “It’s perfect!”

“Thanks,” Roman says, smiling back.

Down the parking lot, someone honks. It’s not Roman’s mom. It’s a man with sunglasses and a coffee, leaning against a small car and watching them.

“My dads,” Janus explains. “I have to either go or tell them what I’m doing next.”

Roman shifts. “What...what _are_ we doing next?”

“Stay?” Patton immediately offers. It’s quick. It’s desperate.

Roman gets the feeling that Patton hasn’t had many friends before.

Well, Roman will just have to be an extra good one, then. To Patton and Janus. His soulmates. And it’s silly to still think of this as one of his stories, but he does--he was angry, and he painted himself as the villain, and his soulmates came and redeemed him. No, better than that. They showed him he didn’t need to be redeemed.

And now they have a dragon sidekick and a wide future before them.

Because if Roman can meet his soulmates, and if they can be his friends, why can’t everything else be possible, too? Castles and lakes and endless skies, adventures with his new friends, a world filled with things to explore.

Roman has dreams, and for once, they seem within his reach.

“I have to study,” he says regretfully. “But...later?”

“Wait.” Janus shifts and bites his lip. “I...I could help you study, if you’d like that?"

Roman stares at him and smiles. “I’d like that!”

“Study buddies!” Patton cheers. “I can bring my homework too!”

“Great!” Roman looks around. “I have to get my stuff, but we’ll meet at the playground down the road, okay?”

“Sounds good,”Janus says. “Paw-ton Stu Dragon--ugh--can lead us there if we get lost.”

“Yes it can, can’t it?” Patton coos. “Yes you can, you cute little pupper, yes you _can_.”

“I’ll meet you there?” Roman offers.

Patton nods and smiles.

“We’ll be there,” Janus promises.


End file.
